5 Times John Asked Sherlock An Important Question
by dumpling47
Summary: ... and one time Sherlock turned the tables. Two-shot; established Johnlock.
1. 5 Questions

_**Inspired by questions I've had myself while immersed in this fandom - and how I'd expect Sherlock to answer them. Plus, I wanted to do one of those 5 times/1 time prompts.**_

_**** There will be another chapter for Sherlock's question, so stick around! ****_

* * *

**1) Why do you play the violin?**

Sherlock's just finished a beautiful composition - one of his own, actually. John claps warmly, and Sherlock bows.

Suddenly, John's curious.

"Sherlock," he says. "Why do you play the violin, anyway?"

"Er - what?" Sherlock's confused.

"I mean, well -"

"It helps me think. I believe I told you that before?"

"I mean, you evoke such wonderful music from it ... it seems rather _sentimental_, doesn't it?"

"There is an exact science to music -"

"No, there isn't. There's a science, but it's not exact. It's beautiful. You're creating something beautiful. I just don't get why you, of all people, are so eager to do that."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth turns up in a smile. "I once told you that I didn't have time for stars, John - but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate them. The same concept applies here, with the music." He shrugs. "Perhaps my sentimental side is resurfacing after all."

There's something oddly sweet about that comment, and John can't help but smile as well.

* * *

**2) Why don't you and Mycroft get along?**

John has never understood it, really. Apparently, there are all sorts of "past disputes" between the Holmes brothers that cause them to not see eye-to-eye - or, as they so melodramatically put it, make them "arch enemies". It seems awfully childish to John, especially after what's just happened: namely, Sherlock's refused to take a case because it related to one of their past feuds.

"Sherlock, you're being a bloody idiot," John says, once they've returned home from Pall Mall. "I don't get why you push his buttons in this way!"

"What, because I'm not taking the case?" Sherlock demands.

"I just - you and your brother - tell me ... why _don't_ you and Mycroft get along? I just don't understand!" John threw his hands up in the air. "This case is an eight, at least."

"The case is one that could make Mycroft very well-known with certain parties if I solve it, and I don't want that -"

"That's not answering my question."

"I suppose ... well ..." Sherlock fidgets. "I suppose we're both a bit stubborn. Too much alike. It led to many fights when we were younger, and, well ... I don't know. It's childish, I realize that."

"I'll say," John rolls his eyes. "Something tells me, though, that you'd still fight with him if he were your opposite, just because he's a relation."

"There you go," Sherlock says. "You answered your own question."

* * *

**3) Why don't you ever talk about your family?**

It isn't the first time John's wondered if Mycroft Holmes is Sherlock's only living relation. Maybe it's because John's such an open person that he wonders - that he can't understand Sherlock's reasons for concealment.

Nevertheless, the next time John observes Sherlock's bedroom, devoid of any sentimental objects (i.e., family portraits), he can't help but ask:

"Why don't you ever talk about your family?"

"What is there to talk about?" Sherlock asks, sounding surprised by John's abrupt question.

"I don't know. I was just wondering."

Sherlock steeples his fingers. "There's not much to say, and I suppose that's why I don't mention them, really. They were ... distant. Still are, actually. You, Mrs. Hudson, and the others are my true family, and that's really all there is to it."

"Oh. I see." John's oddly flattered that Sherlock considers him part of his family, but a bit saddened that his friend doesn't consider his real relations to be just that.

Sherlock sees the questioning look in John's eyes, so he continues. "My father, though ... he was brilliant. Sometimes I wonder if I idolize him a bit too much, but I don't think that's true." He pauses. "He's dead, though. Suicide."

John's breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn't inquire. This seems a bit too personal. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock shrugs. "He was very depressed. But other than that, a great man."

"I'm not surprised - his son takes after him in that sense."

The detective's cheeks flush. "Thank you, John."

"Of course."

* * *

**4) Why do you need me as a flatmate?**

"John, you look surprised."

"Well ... yeah. I mean, _look_." John gapes down at the open box before him, where Sherlock has just pulled out a new purple shirt. The label clearly reads Dolce & Gabbana.

It just doesn't make sense. Sherlock's clearly rolling in money, if he can afford shirts like these. His clothing is always this nice, sometimes nicer. His phone is expensive, as are all his other electronics. His brother Mycroft certainly isn't wanting for anything.

Point being, the Holmes brothers are loaded.

And John just doesn't understand.

John voices his question so that Sherlock will stop giving him that funny look. "Why do you need me as a flatmate, anyway?"

"John?"

"I mean, you clearly have enough money to pay the rent yourself, and doesn't Mrs. Hudson chip in quite a bit? I just don't get it, that's all." John isn't hurt, exactly; it's just something he doesn't understand.

"Oh, I suppose I just didn't want to waste as much on lodgings," Sherlock says with a shrug. "My income is never guaranteed, you know, so ..." he pauses. Swallows.

"Sherlock?"

"Sod it all," Sherlock says, his eyes glazing over. "I didn't request a flatmate for miserly reasons ... I wanted one because ... because I was lonely." He meets John's gaze directly, and looks so sad that John knows for a fact he isn't lying.

"I see." John knows the words are stupid and unsympathetic, but Sherlock doesn't often request his sympathy - and he certainly isn't requesting it now.

* * *

**5) Why don't you ever get bored of me?**

It's something John worries about constantly. Sherlock Holmes, with his massive intellect and easy descents into the ennui, never seems to mind having him around. Enjoys it, even. Really enjoys it.

John just doesn't understand. He feels so plain, so ordinary. You wouldn't think Sherlock would give him the time of day.

John asks about it one evening, when they are cuddling on the sofa together. They haven't worked their way to the bedroom yet, so this seems to be the perfect opportunity. His exact words are: "Why don't you ever get bored of me?"

Sherlock seems a bit taken aback. "What a stupid question," he says with a snort.

John is offended, and Sherlock endeavors to explain:

"It's a stupid question, John, because I don't think I could ever grow bored of you. There's a difference between 'boring' and 'dependable' - surely you know that! You're my John. John Hamish Watson. Always by my side, putting up with my idiosyncrasies. You shot a man for me - on multiple occasions. You helped humanize me, God forbid my saying it! You don't bore me, John, simply because you're in no way ordinary, and I mean it."

John's heart warms, and his kisses his partner fondly. "I believe you," he says.

"Good," Sherlock answers. "Now enough with the stupid questions. It ruins the cuddling."


	2. Plus 1

**+1) Why do you put up with me?**

Sherlock knows he can be irritating, but he doesn't often think about it (or particularly care) until John gets upset.

He's never admitted it, but when John's angry or annoyed by his rudeness, thoughtlessness, or whatever else it might be that day, a great empty hole fills his chest. He feels bad. He feels shame.

He knows he's behaved badly today. The walls have taken plenty of abuse, so he's moved on to the mantlepiece, finding whatever sharp objects are available (not limited to knives) and stabbing them through the wood. There's no reason, no logic behind this, save for the fact that he's beyond bored.

Not that stabbing the mantle helps any, but still.

He's getting ready to stab at the Cluedo board (John beat him, _again_) when the doctor himself appears in the doorway, rubbing his forehead like he has a headache. Sherlock's learned enough about nonverbals in their partnership to know that John is not happy. He's completely exasperated, and he doesn't have to say anything for this to be made clear.

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak. "I was -"

"No, don't even say it," John snaps, glaring at the mantlepiece and sighing heavily. "It's not like it's coming out of the rent or anything."

Sherlock absolutely hates it when John's flippant like that - but even worse, he knows he's entirely to blame.

"Sorry," he says.

"At least it wasn't the wall," John says, making his way into the kitchen when ...

"Holy shit!"

Sherlock sees that he's found the bag of appendages (most would appear to be human) lying out on the table. John fights down the urge to gag, lifts up the bag, and makes his way towards the fridge -

"I should warn you, there's no room in there," Sherlock says cautiously.

"Bloody crisps, I don't wanna know." John tosses the bag down and makes his way out of the room, looking, if anything, worn out.

Sherlock frowns. Why does John put up with this? Even he knows that he's insufferable - but no one else continues to stay. Has ever stayed, really. Not the way John does.

But _why?_ Why does John stay? What does he have to gain, living with a high-functioning sociopath (as well as a domestic nightmare)? Sherlock can't wrap his mind around it.

He needs an answer. Without further thought, Sherlock makes his way to their bedroom, his bare feet making far too much noise against the wood floor. In a burst of rare idiocy, he wonders if John will try to escape if he hears him coming - but obviously that thought gets pushed aside quickly.

"John?" Sherlock stands at the threshold. John's on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, Sherlock?" John sits up.

"I'm sorry about the - well, about everything. The mantlepiece. The fridge. The wall. Being a git ... all the time, really." Sherlock sits down beside his lover, his lip quivering rather uncharacteristically. "You're very patient with me."

"I know I am," John says.

"I have to ask you ... John, why do you put up with me?" Sherlock can't believe he's actually asking this, but he supposes it's better to ask now than later. He's always wondered, anyway. "I'm probably the most insufferable tenant, as well as boyfriend, in all of London. Tell me, please ... why do you stay?"

"Stupid question," John mutters.

"Er - what?"

"I stay because I _love_ you, you arse!"

"I don't understand."

"I don't just tolerate your idiosyncrasies anymore, Sherlock - I've grown to be okay with them, because that's what makes you you. You're moody, you're not impressed easily, and you leave out all your bloody experiments - but you're also brilliant and ridiculously sexy and my best friend. And I wouldn't change any of it, ever."

Sherlock can't believe what he's hearing. "But I -"

"Well, I maybe would get rid of the appendages," John says as an afterthought, "But it's not a big deal, I swear. What I'm trying to say is, I stay because I love you, and I swear that's never going to change."

John leans in and kisses his friend and lover, filling the gap that had existed for too long between them. Sherlock returns the kiss, and finally wraps his arms around John, until there's absolutely no space between them. John's hands find Sherlock's hair, dark and glossy as ever, and Sherlock's reach for John's surprisingly muscular shoulders. The moment is so wonderful, so intimate, and Sherlock finally understands the meaning of wanting something to 'go on forever'.

Eventually they break apart, but not for a long time.

"I'll clean up downstairs," Sherlock promises, clearing his throat.

"You do that," John says. He smiles seductively. "Once you're done, though ... I want you again. More, this time."

"Of course."

Sherlock can barely keep his hands steady as he cleans out the fridge. John's professed his love before, but never like this. And now Sherlock knows why John stays, though he probably should have realized it before.

Nevertheless, his heart swells. He's elated.

And he'll be even more so when he's done cleaning, as long as John holds true to his promise ...


End file.
